


A Cup of Kindness, Actually

by stories_in_my_head



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Another Fic Inspired by Love Actually Nobody Asked For, But Coitus is Cumming, Co-workers, Coitus Interruptus, F/M, Make that three thirsty Wise Women, No Three Kings, Only Four Queens, Three Wise Women, Trust the System, Workplace Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 03:09:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17316926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stories_in_my_head/pseuds/stories_in_my_head
Summary: It's the last day of the year and Rey was not feeling the reason for the season.  Her beloved mother lay ill, hovering near death.  Will she ring in the new year without the presence of the woman who opened her heart and her home to a lonely, starving orphan?  Or does the Universe have enough gifts to spare, granting Rey not only her greatest wish, but also her deepest desires?(Or, my take on the story of Sarah and Karl from "Love Actually," rewritten in Reylo).





	A Cup of Kindness, Actually

**Author's Note:**

  * For [strawberrycupcake_huckleberrypie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberrycupcake_huckleberrypie/gifts).



> For Berry. Our Mama Hen, North Star, Truth Diviner, Pleasure Seeker. Thank you for the gift of your talent, the strength of your convictions, and the bite of your irreverent humor. I am inspired by your generosity and strong moral fiber. You give it your all, and the fandom is all the more enriched by it. I wish you and your family blessings and cheers in the new year. 
> 
> I need to confess, Mama Hen. When I received your prompt, it scared the _bejesus_ out of me. I was seized by a host of doubts and self-recrimination, and I almost told Chief Heaux Heaux I was backing out. I mean, hellooooooo. I got Berry, insanely popular reylo writer, and I gotta deliver something that befits the recipient! Come to think of it, I would feel the same level of anxiety had I been given any other CaP member. I have reached out in panic to the ladies at CaP and they were fuck-ing awesome, very supportive and generous with ~~the whip when my lazy ass needed some positive reinforcement~~ their kind words. I chose your second prompt and added my special twist; I hope you will enjoy my gift. 
> 
> Let's get the ball rolling, shall we?

_A Week Before Christmas_

 

“Fucking hell,” Rey blasted, the blunt words tempered by her incessant giggling while fumbling through an assortment of keys.  Squealing in victory when she chose the correct one, she tried inserting the tiny sliver of metal within the allotted space between the doorknob, without much success. The scrapping of metal upon metal seemed to mock her clumsiness, her efficient hand unusually nervy and uncoordinated, as though she grew additional fingers in each limb within the span of a few hours.      

 

“May I?” a deep voice rumbled from behind, his breath gently teasing the wisps of her hair. The vibration of his words caused a frisson of excitement to ripple from the shell of her ear, traversing through the network of nerves down her spine, before settling with a heavy heat in her belly.  She had heard of people being described as gifted with the voice of an angel, but Ben Solo wasn’t blessed with such a particular trait. Angelic voices evoked everything good and innocent on this earth and beyond, their pleasant sounds inspiring one’s soul to sing and soar. Ben’s voice inspired neither goodness nor innocence; the feelings it conjured were from a carnal state of existence.  The timbre of his voice could transform the most soul-destroying company meeting into a religious experience. Rey was grateful she was sitting in an upholstered chair during said hour-long meeting. Had she been sitting on leather, embarrassing noises would have surely filled the room while Rey crossed her legs discreetly in an effort to suppress the throbbing sweetness between her legs while Ben explained the implications of the new tax reform legislation.  The dry, clinical words drawled in Ben’s baritone filling her mind like molten sap, honeyed, slow-moving and encompassing, and Rey was its unfortunate victim, trapping her in its wake.

 

He placed his much larger hand in front of her, waiting for Rey to drop the keys in his palm.  The power of speech deserting her, she nodded sharply and placed the bunch of keys on his hand, gesturing which was the correct one to use.  They heard the sharp click of the shank slotting perfectly inside the lock. Ben twisted the doorknob, opening the door to allow them inside.  She reached blindly for the switch and turned the lights on, the countless repetition and muscle memory sparing her dignity this time.

 

Rey walked towards the lounge and turned over to see Ben closing the door and hanging the keys on the hook near the switch.  He stood immobile from the short corridor at the entrance to her apartment, hands sliding inside his trouser pockets. The narrow passageway provided limited lighting, casting a mysterious shadow over his features.  Rey’s mesmerized gaze centered on the top button straining to fasten the front of Ben’s suit. Her hands clutched her purse tightly, grasping at the hard material while she wondered how a lone button could contain the width of his chest.  She ran her tongue over her upper lip, promising to put that button, and every other button of his shirt, out of their misery.

 

Before anything else, Rey’s well-entrenched and rehearsed manners demanded her to offer hospitality to the new guest.

 

“Are you thirsty?”

 

Ben sauntered forward, his gait spare and purposeful, a jungle predator who had found his worthy prey.  “No, thank you.”

 

In the fullness of light, Rey could finally gaze into his handsome face.  His eyes were fully blown, the dark chocolate orbs roaming all over her face with an intensity that threatened to pull the rug from under her.  She took a step back, desperate to capture a sliver of rationality; to go through the final motions of polite conversation before giving into this...thing building between them.

 

“Are - are you hungry?”

 

“Not for food.”  

 

Hearing those three words knocked the wind out of her sails.  In the space of a heartbeat, she met Ben halfway, reaching out to him, her purse forgotten and dropping with a sharp thud on the wooden flooring.  The impact of their bodies coming together was softened by his hands seizing her waist while Rey pulled his lapels, propelling to cling to his massive body. Her head slanted slightly to avoid smashing into Ben’s prominent nose, smelling his aftershave and the clean scent of his breath laced with the alcohol he consumed at the firm’s year-end party.  The potent combination went straight into her head, making her dizzy, pausing her ascent within a hair’s breadth from his pouty lips.

 

Rey tried to suppress a soft whimper from escaping; she felt Ben inhale sharply before swooping in, capturing her mouth with a deep kiss.  Their locked lips perfectly slotted together, his mouth applying the right amount of pressure against hers. When he nipped her lower lip without warning, she jumped at the sensation, startled by the sting of teeth, her hands creeping up as she carded her fingers through the sable curls of his hair in reassurance.  It was the prompt Ben had been waiting for, running the tip of his tongue along the seam of her mouth, a gesture both to sooth her tender flesh and to seek entrance. Rey gave permission without hesitation, and everything fell back into a dreamy haze.

 

True to her imagination, Ben moved with surety and confidence, not the very least awkward or tentative. What caught her by surprise was how Ben's kisses felt like teasing, his tongue flicking playfully with her own, tempting her to join him on a journey of mutual discovery.  Rey returned his ardor in equal measure. The passage of time went unnoticed, content in their lust filled bubble, their lips and tongue mimicking what they intended to be the ultimate goal of the night. It wasn't until Ben's hands slid down the sides of her hips to grind their groins together that Rey realized they needed to take this somewhere more comfortable and private.

 

She reluctantly wrenched her lips from his, both of them gasping for air. Rey didn't waste time to apologize or explain and took Ben's hand, leading him towards her bedroom.  Her room was neat and tidy, and she thanked her gift of foresight in purchasing a queen-sized bed. She turned on a bedside lamp, filling the room with a muted glow, leaving him standing at the foot of the bed.  Ben unbuttoned and removed his jacket in one smooth motion. He removed the pair of cufflinks, keeping them secured inside his pockets, rolling his sleeves up until his forearms were exposed. Ben performed this mini striptease with his hungry gaze never leaving hers.

 

“Come here, Rey,” Ben commanded throatily. “Finish what you started when you walked into my life and turned it upside down.”

 

“I haven’t even done anything yet,”  she countered. It was their first time confined in a small, intimate space alone.  Rey could see, in hindsight, how their growing attraction affected their interactions at the firm.  Working together provided ample opportunity to meet, but Rey ensured that there were always other associates or partners whenever she initiated any contact with Ben.  She suspected Ben had adapted the same method. Heaven above knows what could happen should the two of them find themselves alone in the cool, dark caverns of the office archives, the scent of books and musty old paper fanning the flames of their then-hidden desires.  

 

Her debacle with the doorknob fresh on her mind, Rey couldn't rely on her hands to unzip her dress without looking like a scrabbling madwoman struggling to remove a spider dropped down the back of her dress.  Looking at the reach of Ben's forearms, Rey was inspired to formulate a naughty idea.

 

Turning around, Rey asked Ben a simply worded request.  “Could you unzip me, please?” She heard Ben draw a sharp inhale and immediately felt the heat radiating from his body as he inched closer.

 

“Face the mirror, sweetheart. Let me see you fall apart in my arms.”

 

It was her turn to take a sharp breath; his words shot right through the tightening tension inside her body. She obeyed his orders, facing the full body mirror in the corner of her bedroom. Standing in front of their reflections, Rey could only gape at how impossibly tall he was - and she was already a woman of above average height. She saw Ben reaching over her collar, opening a tiny hook before taking the delicate slider and dragged it ever so slowly down the curve of her back.  She didn’t hear the rasping of the metal teeth; all Rey could hear was the drumming beat of her own heart. The slider ended its travels and with a slide of his hand, her dress fell down in a scented, rumpled heap.

 

Rey was left with her lacy bra and panties set, her sheer black stockings fastened by a garter belt, and her stiletto heels.  She was a thoroughly modern woman, but could secretly admit to being thoroughly titillated at their image on the mirror, with Ben still fully clothed and her down to scraps of lace and fabric.  Seeing her almost vulnerable in his presence awoke in her a carnal and primal sensation. What could normally repulse her modern sensibilities was now, with Ben, something to revel in and explored.  

 

She caught sight of Ben’s arms wrapping around her waist, caging her half-naked body in his arms.  Rey should feel claustrophobic, her female instincts of self-preservation heightened at the thought of being physically restrained this way.  With Ben, Rey only sensed safety, a space for her to show vulnerability, a place where she could give in and cater to Ben’s every fevered, explicit desire.

 

“You have surpassed every dream I have of you, and I had plenty of time to imagine,” Ben confessed softly, ending his admission with a penitent and reverent kiss on her temples.  Her breath came in pants, her body weak and boneless resting against the firm expanse of his.

 

“I find that very hard to believe,” Rey teased, discovering a new facet to her personality, surprised at the husky and sultry quality of her voice.  

 

“Then believe _this,_ my sweet siren,” he growled, tightening his hold over her to rub the hard column of his cock against her lower back.  

 

She released a loud, voluptuous moan.  Her keen senses heard a trilling sound coming from her lounge, but Rey was already leaving the realm of rational thought.  The glide of his covered hard-on made her pussy walls clamp down involuntarily, seeking for _something_ to grip within its tight confines.  To say she was wet was a forgone conclusion.  The non-absorbent material of her panties gathered her wetness, and should Ben decide to gently slide his fingers under her panties, he would find her sopping flesh with a lewd squelch.

 

“Ben, I need -”  Rey whimpered, shocked at her willingness to be the one who was seeking and needful.  “Please.”

 

He groaned loudly, cock pulsing between their heated bodies.  “Did you feel that, sweet Rey? How my cock throbbed hearing your plea.”  Ben ground himself against the curve of her ass, the relief he found temporary, chased by the return of his raging need tenfold.  Their breaths came hard and fast, as if both ran a great distance, their loud inhalations drowning out another sound, the same melodious beat ringing minutes before.         

 

“Tell me what you want and I will give it to you,” he offered, the rough timbre of his voice taking on a pleading, beseeching tone, comforting her in the fact he too was swept up in a similar tide of want and longing.

 

She swallowed deeply.  “Touch me, Ben, please,” Rey begged, finding an iota of unflinching boldness, her trembling hands seeking his fingers to take them under the stretched lace of her panties, her belly caving in at the contact of his rough palm against her sensitized flesh.    They both hissed at the same time when his fingers found the blazing heat of her labia, generously coated with the dew of her arousal.

 

“Fuck, all this wetness just for me,” Ben breathed in awe, his hands already staking claim to her secret places.  The lamp provided ample lighting for Rey to see the fabric of her panties stretching to accommodate his massive hand.  The dark material of the underwear was sheer enough for her to see his index and ring finger spreading her lower lips while his middle finger unerringly found her clit.  The sight of his hands between her legs was too much for Rey to bear, closing her eyes to avoid leering at the lewd display.

 

“No,”  Ben snarled, his middle finger gliding firmly against her sensitive nub, the sound of her wetness surrounding his fingers equal parts divine and vulgar.  “You’ve tortured me for the longest time. Don’t close your eyes when I deliver my punishment.”

 

She keened at his dark demand.  “Ben! It’s too much, I -”

 

“I’ve got you, my starlight.  Look at me. Please.” With heavy lids, Rey opened her eyes, bright and languorous in the mirror.  They found his dark brown pair looking at their reflection with a ravenous, predatory craving. Rey noticed the nipples poking out from the lace of her bra, her breasts heavy and tingling, impatiently awaiting for their turn to receive Ben’s marauding hands.  

 

The ringing from the outside could not be ignored.  His fingers froze their frenzied motions, hoping the chime was a figment of their fevered imaginations.  It wasn’t; the peal of what they now recognized as a ringtone was persistent and jarring. They covered their nervous chuckles with sighs and groans, the fires of their ardor banked for a moment.

 

“It might be Rose, or Phas, I didn’t say goodbye before… before we left -”  Rey guessed breathily.

 

“Tell them to get their noses, and their ridiculous bets, out of our business,” Ben replied gruffly.            

 

“What? You mean they -”

 

He nodded.  “We are way off their estimation, sweet.  Poe tried to cheat, giving me a bottle of fiber supplements as a birthday present last month.  He hinted that I needed to release my sexual constipation with a certain sexy workmate to sweeten my mood.”  

 

“You are worth the wait, Mr Solo.”

 

“Save your empty compliments, Ms Kanata, it won’t get you anywhere.  Now, be a good girl and tell the caller to lose your number for the rest of the night.”

 

Rey arched her brow primly.  “Would that be all, Mr Solo?”  

 

“No, Ms Kanata,”  he said, releasing her wet flesh from his fingers.  Her insides felt all sorts of aching when he licked the juices from his shiny digits.  “I need to taste your pussy and sip all this sweet honey directly from the source. Sort out your call and hurry back.”

 

“Right away, Mr Solo,”  she confirmed, speaking as though they were discussing a court deadline rather than a sexual request.  It was a Christmas miracle she retained her ability to walk, oblivious to how she looked in Ben’s estimation, her lightly golden skin encased in fetching lingerie, enthralled while she strode away from him with a sway of her generous hips, the click of her stilettos tapping on the hardwood floor.

 

She found her discarded purse on the floor and opened the latch, grabbing her phone and tapping her numeric password.  The illumination of the screen bathed her face with a faint blue tinge as she found she had missed three calls. She scrolled down and blinked, the mascara she applied hours before coating heavily on her lashes, and the confusion as to the nature of the call was replaced with the clammy, painful twist of dread when her eyes confirmed the name of the caller.

 

_Takodana Greens Rest Home_

 

\--o--

 

_The last day of the year_

 

The common area was the heart of the Takodana Greens Rest Home.  Brightly lit, the generously sized area was strategically located where it could capture the daylight to maximum effect. The aura of lightness and serenity was enhanced by walls and floors painted in neutral colors. Outfitted with furniture cushioned to be gentle on elderly bodies, the sofas and lounges were cleverly arranged to give ample space for walkers and wheelchairs to zip through, and close enough to encourage its occupiers to engage with each other.  To connect, even in the briefest of ways, like the proverbial ships passing in the night.

 

It was the morning of the last day of the year.  Christmas had come and gone, yet the tree was still up and twinkling, and the other holiday decorations still hanging on the walls.  They were normally taken down the day after the twenty-fifth, but some of the nurses and caretakers of the rest home protested. From where they were from, a Far Eastern archipelago where Christianity planted its roots, Christmas decorations were already up by _September_ and were taken down on the first Sunday of January, the Feast of the Three Kings.  The powers that be at the home were taken aback at the vehemence by which their normally quiet and gentle staff expressed their dismay.  After much thought and discussion, they allowed this unusual tradition, seeing it could also do no harm to extend the festive mood well into the New Year, especially for residents who are all by their lonesome, with no family or loved ones to cheer their spirits.

 

On the flat-screen braced discreetly on one corner, the morning show reminded its audience to tune into the channel’s New Year show which would begin several hours later.  The ebullient television hosts provided pleasant background noise for a group of old women sitting together on a sofa. Becky, a senior nurse of the rest home, tucked warm blankets over their laps to stave off the worst of the cold, before parking their walkers nearby for easy access.  Satisfied the trio was well-settled, the nurse reached out from a nearby coffee table and gave each lady their chosen accouterments. Carrie took her laptop, while Deb received her handheld tablet to keep up with what was happening on her social media accounts. Lastly, a supply of pencils and a drawing pad was given to Cookie, the third member of the group.

 

“Thank you so much, Sister,” Carrie remarked in gratitude, echoes of her transatlantic accent evident even after decades of living in America.  A woman ahead of her time but retaining a few of the old world customs and traditions, she insisted on calling Becky, also from the British Isles, by her old school formal designation.

The nurse gave her elderly compatriot a honest, open smile.  “You know I go the distance for my favorites. Just between us girls, yes?”

 

“What’s the British term for it?” Deb wondered, her index finger tapping her chin. “Ahh… Mum's the word,” she reassured Becky, winking conspiratorially.  Residents at the home were confident they were treated with equal professionalism and compassion, yet their light-hearted exchange held a well-worn yet easy familiarity.  The banter was a way for the staff to make residents feel special and for the elderly to let the staff know how grateful they were when they go the extra mile.

 

“Any news?” Cookie inquired succinctly. Her direct-to-the-point manner was usually mistaken for brusqueness or worse, given her features, a lack of comprehension for the English language.  The petite woman didn’t bother correcting other people’s misinterpretation of her character, learning to use what was meant as a dig or a slight to her advantage. She welcomed it sometimes, preferring to be underestimated before she slayed her adversaries, going for the jugular with a serene smile on her face, leaving nothing of her enemies but dust in her wake.   _Besides, I have to be salty.  Someone’s got to balance the sweet,_ Cookie would often declare, casting Deb a mischievous side-eye.

 

“I just started my shift, love.  I’ll update you once I know more.  In the meantime,” Becky added briskly, distracting the women from asking further worried questions.  “You mustn’t worry too much and go about your day. Maz wouldn’t want the lot of you moping around and doing nothing.”  All three ladies nodded in agreement, finding wisdom at the nurse’s suggestion. When Becky left their side to tend to the other residents, they settled into an easy, companionable silence, punctuated by meandering, murmured conversation.

 

Theirs was a decades long friendship, with all its peaks and troughs, children and late husbands, may some of those bastards rest in pieces.  Their group has been a welcome source of comfort in the twilight of their long, interesting lives. The one missing was their fourth comrade, the D'Artagnan to their Three Musketeers (“I’m more the Beyonce of our group, Rey, when the girl group was four,” Maz used to boast with a twinkle in her monocled eyes).  Their friend was currently in isolation, felled by an illness attacking the very young and the very old during the winter season.

 

Despite the seriousness of Maz’s condition, the women soldiered on.  They went about their daily routine without their good friend in their midst, not out of cruelty or indifference to her situation.  Though it was well-run and the staff were efficient and kind, the residents were there, symbolically, to cool their weary heels, the rest home their executive airport lounge, waiting for the tannoy to announce their flight to the afterlife. Death was the permanent resident of the home, its presence seldom acknowledged yet accepted with stoic grace.

 

Knowing their time was now a luxury that could be snatched away from their grasp, the ladies refused to be taken down through the rabbit hole of sadness and self-pity.  The four of them decided, years ago, not to take one more day for granted and live like each day was the last, and to take up the cudgels should one of their bodies give up the fight.  So, here they were, the three of them, awake, alert and perfectly coiffed, their chit-chat free flowing, if a shade subdued.

 

“This new laddie, the one doing this New Year show,” Carrie observed while typing away in her laptop.   “What’s his name again? Seapest?”

 

“Sea _crest_ ,”  Deb corrected her old friend indulgently, her slim french-tipped hand jabbing continuously on the flat screen of her device. It seemed from the speed and dexterity of her fingers, her social media life had more variety and activity than her quiet, dignified existence in the rest home.    

 

“Sounds like a brand of toothpaste,” Cookie murmured, her attentions focused on the drawing pad, her frail hand passing through the empty space with an ease and dexterity belying her old age.  When she retired, at the top of her field, she devoted her time into art, a passion she secretly nurtured while working her way up in the cutthroat world of the sciences.

 

“All teeth and no bite,” Carrie sighed dramatically. Although her publishing days as a renowned true crime writer were well behind her, she relished the challenge of creating original short story fiction and publishing them anonymously.

 

“I’m looking for inspiration for my new story.  This man can’t wring a drop of wetness from me, with all that sickeningly white teeth and fake tan!” Deb and Cookie snorted at their friend's ribald complaint.

 

“They shouldn’t have replaced the other host,” Deb chimed.  “He was very good. Not a hair out of place. I wonder what happened to him?”

 

“He’s dead,” Carrie and Cookie exclaimed at the same time.  Deb's crimson lips formed an O of understanding, then shrugged her delicate shoulders. Nothing could be said anymore about the topic and they all quieted again, content in their own personal bubble.

 

They decided to take a break by mid-morning, and were about to request for refreshments when a much younger woman emerged from the door.  The newcomer was not a resident, yet her posture was hunched like an old crone, her walk was slow and ponderous as if carrying a heavy burden.  A veil of sadness surrounded her, dimming the shine of her smooth complexion and the vitality of her chestnut hair. She wore little to no makeup and her hair was pulled up in a messy bun.  The three women were used to gazing at her casual appearance during her frequent visits, but their hearts ached in shared pain when her radiant smile was missing. The clear, refreshing sound of her laughter was replaced with muted sighs and discreet sniffles.

 

The young woman sat on the coffee table, her head bent down.  She didn’t dare look at the other ladies in the eye; Rey's emotions were simmering near the surface and she feared embarrassing herself by wailing like a banshee in front of everyone.  The three old women kept their counsel, allowing the other to regain her composure before they provided their comfort. When she finally raised her head, her hazel eyes were dull, the edges of each eyelid filled with unshod tears.

 

“Rey, my lamb.”  Deb stood up, surprisingly spry and all motherly concern, wrapping the blanket from her lap around the other woman’s shoulders.  “Don’t tear yourself up too badly.”

 

Rey nodded valiantly, struggling to keep a lid on her distress, but the wave of love and concern emanating from the women she considered family opened the dam.  Fat tears ran down the apple of her cheeks, shoulders quaking with the force of her weeping.

 

Ever the practical member of their group, Carrie reached over her cardigan to produce a scrap of tissue.  “Here,” she tugged Deb’s sleeve, who took it and offered the bit of paper to the sobbing woman. The gentle, southern lady ran her fingers all over Rey’s bound hair, remembering with fondness a time when Rey, as a young girl, ran into her arms angry and upset when the boy she liked in school did something awful.

 

_“He shoved his feet in front of me when I wasn’t looking where I was going!” Rey cried.  “I fell flat on the floor in front of everyone! How could he do such a thing, Auntie Deb?”_

 

_“Because men are pigs.”_

 

_Rey looked at her beloved Auntie in horror.  “Is he going to turn into an animal?”_

 

_Deb chuckled, amazed at how right on the money the young woman’s words were.  “No, lamb. I call you my lamb and you don’t bleat, do ya?” The pig-tailed teen shook her head._

 

_“I took it to mean boys don’t think like humans when they… like someone.”_

 

_“But if Adam liked me, Auntie, why would he be so cruel?”_

 

_“The boy wanted your attention.  Tripping you was his way of getting it.”_

 

_The girl buried her head on the crook of Deb’s arms.  “That's dumb.”_

 

_Planting a kiss on the top of the child’s head, Deb hummed in agreement.  “Remember, lamb, when he says he likes you but does awful things to you, knee his bollocks and run!”_

 

Deb was yanked back to the present when Rey noisily blew her runny nose on the tissue.  Her behavior would've sent Deb into a chiding lecture on manners and deportment, but she was under a tremendous amount of stress and worry these past two weeks. Deb decided to let the unladylike mannerism slide, and be more motherly and nurturing, less of being a harsh, unreasonable taskmaster.

 

“Need anything, squirt? Food? Water? Something stronger?”

 

Rey gave her Aunt Cookie a watery smile. “I'm fine, Auntie. I don't think I could consume anything right now.”

 

Rey's admission sent her aunt's worries whipping into a tailspin. She was never a fussy eater; no problem or challenge diminished her appetite, until now. Her zest for eating was legendary.  Maz lavished Rey with attention and food, the young child thriving on the former and practically inhaling the latter. The elderly woman was initially concerned with her adopted daughter's near insatiable consumption of food. Believing it to be a result of Rey's years of deprivation under the foster care system, Maz consulted experts and was advised to cautiously observe her for a few weeks and to maintain a strict meal timetable. All four women sighed in relief when Rey started eating at a normal pace, but nothing could dim her usual gusto.

 

“Talk to us, chicken,” Carrie urged.  ”It will do you no good to bottle your feelings inside.”

 

“Aunt Carrie's right, squirt.  Your mother's a fighter, she will get through this. You need to go the distance for her.”

 

“I understand what you're saying, Aunt Cookie. If you could just see Mom, so frail and _small -”_ a heartbreaking sob wracked Rey's slender frame. “I cannot forgive myself for not answering the damn phone straight away!”

 

“Lamb, how many times we have to tell you it wasn't your fault? You can't live your life half expecting the worst to happen.”

 

Rey swallowed painfully.  “Maz has done so much, Aunt Deb, and I promised myself I would repay the goodness she has given to me.  And I failed at the first hurdle!”

 

“I believe your mother was fond of telling everyone with a functioning ear how smart and sensible her daughter is, and yet here you are, croaking nonsense like a crackpot,” Carrie admonished, not unkindly.  The old lady sighed when Rey’s lips thinned in a stubborn line. “There was a time when you could not wait to leave the coop and spread your wings. And here you are clinging to your mam’s apron strings - you’re too young to receive a second childhood lassie!”  

 

“Aunt Carrie, she hovered near death while I was out partying -”

 

“But she recovered,” Cookie interceded, diffusing the emerging display of heightened emotions.  Whoever coined the line “Great minds think alike” didn’t know Carrie and Rey, who possessed the same great mind, but their relationship and proximity was a battlefield full of skirmishes and all out battles.  The love between these two, however, was palpable and unmistakable.

 

“You need to live your own life, lassie.  We will always be here to support you but you canna stop -”

 

“Excuse me, Rey?”  Becky called out from the entrance.  The nurse’s face was inscrutable, unreadable, and Rey felt her heart leave her chest and drop at the pit of her stomach.

 

“Becky, what’s wrong, is it mom -”  she asked, bile rising up her throat at the possibility of her mother turning for the worst.

 

“Maz?  No! Don’t worry, she’s still in a stable condition,”  Becky reassured the young woman. All sighed in relief before the nurse informed Rey the reason why she asked for her.  “Rey, love, you have a visitor.”

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to thank the redoubtable (ie formidable, indescribable, multi-talented, no adjective is enough) [ohwise1ne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohwise1ne/pseuds/ohwise1ne) for beta'ing my work. You slay me, have my entrails as tribute.


End file.
